


After All This Time

by tardigrape



Series: The Witcher and His Bard [7]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, BDSM, Blow Jobs, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Sexual Content, Feels, Gay Sex, Geralt Is So Mean, Jaskier Is So Good, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Reunion Sex, Reunions, S1E6 Spoilers, top!Jaskier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-04
Updated: 2020-01-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:53:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22117426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tardigrape/pseuds/tardigrape
Summary: After years apart, a chance meeting brings Geralt and Jaskier back together. But Geralt has a lot to apologize for.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: The Witcher and His Bard [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1591987
Comments: 56
Kudos: 828





	After All This Time

**Author's Note:**

> Poor Jaskier did not deserve the way Geralt treated him in the show. I'd like to think Geralt eventually figures that out. Takes place long after the events in the TV show, sometime before those in the game Wild Hunt.
> 
> **
> 
> This can stand alone, or can be read as a follow-up to my previous work about these two, Of Tossed Coins and Other Lyrics. If you got here from that story, be warned, this one is quite different in tone.

As Geralt wound his way through the streets of Novigrad, people jostled him, jabbing elbows into his ribs, nudging against his back, tripping his feet. He’d always hated this about the city: the crowds, the throngs of people. He stopped to get his bearings in a crossroads and was roughly bumped from behind.

“Oh, pardon, I didn’t see—” The voice cut off. Its timbre was familiar to Geralt’s ears. He turned and looked into the eyes of a man he hadn’t seen in years.

“Um. Apologies, Geralt.” Jaskier cleared his throat. “It’s, uh, it’s good to see you.” He glanced at the ground, the sky, the people hurrying past. “Well, so long, then.”

“Jaskier.” Geralt hadn’t spoken that name in so long. Had stopped even allowing himself to think it. “It’s good to see you too.”

A wide smile appeared on the bard’s face. Its edges had lines Geralt didn’t remember. Humans aged so quickly. “It truly is, Geralt. Really.” Jaskier nodded. “Listen.” He licked his lips, and Geralt caught a whiff of nervous anxiety. “I’m singing at the Kingfisher tonight. The next few nights, actually.” He looked up. “I’d love for you to drop by.”

Geralt nodded. “Of course.”

Jaskier smiled and nodded back. Then he turned and left, glancing once over his shoulder to see if Geralt watched him leave. Geralt watched him long after, until he disappeared around a corner.

————

The last golden rays of sunlight glinted off the windows of the Kingfisher as Geralt approached. He took in the building’s grand edifice. Long streamers adorned its walls, in crimson and gold, with fluttering pennants streaming from the rooftop. It suited Jaskier.

A half smile cocked Geralt’s lips as he pushed open the door. Inside, the Kingfisher was packed with people. Although a few games of gwent were underway along the balcony, the majority of the crowd jockeyed for position on the floor, shoving to be closest to the stage, which was currently brightly lit but empty. Geralt glanced around. Was all this for Jaskier? The bard had come up in the world.

The curtains behind the stage fluttered, and a hush fell over the crowd. Even the gwent games stopped. With a flourish, Jaskier flung the curtains aside and strode onto the stage.

The crowd erupted into wild applause. Geralt looked around at them. Jaskier hadn’t even begun to sing. Was this what it was like every night?

He looked back at the stage, where Jaskier had pulled his lute to his shoulder and was adjusting its keys. Then the bard faced the crowd, smiled, and bowed. The people fell silent once again.

Jaskier took a breath, strummed his lute, and sang. His rich, clear voice swept over the audience, and every eye in the room was on him, even and especially Geralt’s. As Jaskier sang, the crowd gasped, laughed, sighed, and wept in turn, swept along in the stories of his melodies. Geralt recognized a few tunes from the days when Jaskier had traveled with him, but most were new. A smattering featured him, although many more were about the lips, eyes, and hair of maidens fair. Geralt found himself drawn into the lips, eyes, and hair of the man onstage, whose skin glowed in the limelights. Geralt realized he was laughing and sighing along with the crowd. How had he forgotten what skill Jaskier possessed?

Far too quickly, Jaskier was bowing, thanking the audience for their patronage. Geralt clapped loudly with the rest of the people gathered, even bringing his fingers to his mouth to give a shrill whistle. The thunderous applause continued so long that Jaskier was obliged to return and play another song, and then another. Finally, Jaskier kissed his fingers to the crowd and departed.

Straightening from his stance of leaning against a post, Geralt eyed the bar. The people who had been so enraptured by Jaskier’s performance were now surging toward the bar, clamoring for ale. Geralt decided not to try to push his way through and instead turned to the door. But a comely young woman laid a gentle hand on his elbow.

“Geralt of Rivia?” she asked.

He turned. “Yes?” He swore he had never seen her before, but it wasn't the first time his fame preceded him, especially when Jaskier was close by.

“Jaskier would like to see you backstage, if you’re amenable.” The woman smiled and gestured for him to follow.

Geralt grunted and obliged, noting that even Jaskier’s lackeys were beautiful. She led him through a small door next to the stage and up a narrow flight of stairs. She knocked three times on the door at the landing, then pushed it open.

Geralt stepped into the room. It was well appointed, perhaps even a bit grandiose, adorned with carved furniture and embroidered pillows, its polished wooden walls hung with intricate tapestries. Vases of flowers stood on nearly every horizontal surface. In the middle of it all, at a small dressing table, sat Jaskier, who turned as Geralt entered.

“Geralt!” Jaskier rose, beaming. “So glad you could make it.” He stopped and cocked his head. “In truth, I doubted you would come.”

Geralt sighed. His last words to Jaskier had haunted him for years. Finding Ciri had dulled the sting of his regret, but had not erased it. For a time he had hunted the bard, asking after him in every inn and tavern, but he always seemed to arrive a few weeks too late. In the end he’d given up, accepting that he’d thrown away the one person who cared for him most in the world.

“Of course I came.” Geralt smiled. “It’s been a long time.”

“It has.” Jaskier strode to the door and closed it quietly, thanking the young woman for bringing Geralt to the room. He turned and regarded the witcher. “Yet you haven’t changed a bit.”

“The mutations,” Geralt muttered. “Slows aging.”

“Ah, to be so blessed.” Jaskier shrugged. “Still, I can’t complain.” He approached Geralt, coming close enough Geralt caught a whiff of his scent, but not so close the witcher yet felt the heat of his body. “How have you been, these past years?”

Now Geralt shrugged. “Better and worse. You know.” He studied his fingernails. “I found Ciri.”

“Yes, I’d heard.” Jaskier took another step toward him. “I’m happy for you, Geralt. Truly.”

Geralt nodded. He cocked his head toward the door. “You were wonderful out there tonight.” He smiled. “The crowd loved you.”

“Yes, the Kingfisher has been very good to me,” Jaskier agreed. “Thank you for the compliment. Never used to be one of your strong suits, compliments.”

A growl rose in Geralt’s throat, but he pushed it back down. Instead, he looked up and met Jaskier’s eyes. All those years he’d wished things had ended differently between them, all that regret, and now here he was, ready to scold him again. Old habits truly did die hard. Well, new ones could be formed. “Jaskier,” Geralt said, and swallowed. “I’m sorry. For what I said.”

Jaskier’s eyebrows rose, and then fell. He looked down, took a breath, and backed away, leaning against the footboard of the bed. “Well.” He ran a hand through his hair, tousling it. “That’s something.” He looked back up at Geralt. “It’s in the past. Let’s leave it there.”

Geralt frowned. “I—it was a mistake.” He couldn’t just leave it. If nothing else, he would say his piece. “I shouldn’t have pushed you away. I was angry, but not at you. And after you left, I—” Now Geralt ran a hand through his hair. Was he going to tell Jaskier everything?

Jaskier tilted his head to the side. “Geralt,” he said, “I understand. It was a long time ago. It’s all right.”

“It isn’t.” Geralt strode to him, stood close enough to feel Jaskier’s heat. “I lost you. All the time we could have had, and I threw it away.”

One of Jaskier’s eyebrows rose. “Geralt, are you…” He frowned. “This isn’t like you. Have you been bespelled?” He peered at Geralt, as though he could divine some sorcery on him.

Geralt balled his hands into fists and looked away. Of all the ways he had imagined meeting Jaskier again—and there had been lots, over the years—this wasn’t how he’d pictured things going. Jaskier, as always, was disrupting his plans. “I’m not under a spell. I just want to…” He faltered. “To make things right.”

“Make things right?” Jaskier snorted, incredulous. “Do you know how long I—” He stopped and pressed his lips together, shook his head. A scent of anger rose from him. “I waited in Caingorn for six months. Six months! It wasn’t the first time you’d stormed off, of course, but you always came around.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “But you didn’t. I ran out of coin, and then credit, and honestly, I didn’t even care. They tossed me in a gutter, and I stayed there. I was ready to die, I would have welcomed death. But after all those brushes with death at your side, once you were gone, it would not come for me.” He huffed. “I barely made it through that. And I hated you for it. For years.” He shook his head. “I got past it eventually, obviously. I moved on. And now you turn up, dredging it all back up. And for what?” He glared at Geralt. “What do you want?”

Geralt looked into his blue eyes, piercing him the way no steel or claw ever had. “Forgiveness.”

Jaskier’s breath hitched, and tears gathered in his eyes. He looked away, swallowing, but they spilled over his cheeks. Geralt tentatively reached out a hand and laid it on his shoulder. Jaskier flinched, but did not shrug it off.

It was, perhaps, all the invitation Geralt was going to get. He chose to push his luck. He stepped even closer to Jaskier, pulling him toward himself with the hand on his shoulder, and wrapped the other one around him. Jaskier buried his head in Geralt’s chest, his tears now flowing freely.

“I’m sorry,” Geralt said over and over into his hair. “I’m so sorry.”

“I loved you,” Jaskier whimpered into his shirt. “I adored you. I would have done anything for you, and often did, really.” He looked up, his eyes red-rimmed. “Why couldn’t you just love me back?”

Geralt pulled Jaskier to his feet, holding him close. “I did.”

Jaskier laughed mirthlessly. “You didn’t act like it. Certainly never said as much.”

“I’m saying it now.”

Jaskier looked up. Even standing, Geralt still towered over him, so Jaskier’s face tilted up toward Geralt’s. His eyes darted back and forth, searching Geralt’s face.

“Geralt,” Jaskier said, “kiss me.”

Geralt didn’t need telling twice. He bent and pressed his lips to Jaskier’s, opening his mouth to allow Jaskier’s tongue inside. Jaskier kissed back greedily, hungrily, deepening the kiss with a wanton need. Well, he never had been one to hold back.

Geralt groaned and tightened his arms around Jaskier, who rose onto his tiptoes and tangled his fingers in Geralt’s hair. Jaskier pulled away slightly, and Geralt whimpered—actually _whimpered_ —but Jaskier merely guided him back with him to the bed. Together they sank onto it, Geralt on his back and Jaskier straddling his hips.

For a long time they merely lay together, kissing and stroking each other’s skin and hair, tangling their legs together. Geralt could feel Jaskier’s cock pressing against him, but he felt no urgency. For once, they had time.

Finally, Jaskier slipped his slender hands under Geralt’s shirt and lifted it over his head. He leaned back and bit his lip. “Stay there,” he commanded, standing and walking away.

Geralt felt the urge to follow him, but considered that he might be on rather thin ice here, so he stayed put. Jaskier dug around in a large chest and returned holding two large dimeritium shackles.

“Uh, Jaskier,” Geralt said, but Jaskier shook the shackles at him.

“Geralt, if you want my forgiveness, you’re going to need to work for it. You’re not a mage, I know this won’t hurt.” He climbed onto Geralt’s lap, causing a tingling sensation to spread up Geralt’s belly from his loins. Jaskier leaned forward and clapped one shackle around Geralt’s wrist, then fastened the other end of it to the bedpost. “I normally use satin ribbons for this, but…” He eyed Geralt’s chest. “I don’t think that would quite hold.” He shackled Geralt’s other wrist and sat back, his hips grinding into Geralt’s cock. Geralt moaned. “Oh yes,” said Jaskier, grinding a bit more. “That will do nicely.”

Jaskier began slowly unlacing his tunic, drawing each string out of its ties with relish. He eyed Geralt through his lashes, every so often moving his hips to shift the pressure against Geralt’s cock. “You, sir,” he said, undoing the last lace, “have quite a lot of penance to pay.” He pulled his shirt off and tossed it aside, ruffling his hair even more.

Geralt gazed at Jaskier. His hair was a beautiful mess, standing at bed-rumpled angles all over his head. His lips were red and full from kissing, and his skin already wore a thin sheen of sweat. His bare chest rose and fell rapidly, his breath coming quickly as he gazed back at Geralt. Geralt reached for him, the shackles clanking before he got far. Jaskier grinned as Geralt’s cock twitched.

“Oho,” the bard said, rising to his knees. “It seems chaining you to the bed may not be penance after all.” He moved to one side and slowly unbuttoned Geralt’s trousers, his fingers lightly brushing Geralt’s cock with each button. Geralt groaned, feeling the warmth from Jaskier’s fingers spread like fire across his skin. “Well,” Jaskier continued as he tugged Geralt’s trousers down, “we’ll just have to find some other way to torture you.”

Jaskier pulled off Geralt’s boots and slid his trousers off. Geralt resisted the urge to clamp his thighs around the bard. Let him have his fun. Anyway, as Geralt’s aching erection insisted, Jaskier’s slow torture was delicious pain.

Geralt was clearly not the only one thinking deliciously. Jaskier knelt, eyeing Geralt’s cock, and his tongue flicked out to wet his lips. He grinned at Geralt and bent, slowly, lowering his head until his mouth was so close to Geralt’s cock he could feel the heat of Jaskier’s breath. There, he paused, breathing heavily onto Geralt’s tip.

Geralt could take no more. He bucked his hips up, pushing his cock into Jaskier’s open mouth. Jaskier sucked for a moment, then pulled away. “Oh, no, that won’t do.” He pursed his lips and clicked his tongue. “Now you must be punished.”

He rose again and went to the trunk, this time returning with a lash. Geralt narrowed his eyes. He’d seen men’s backs flayed to the bone with such tools.

Jaskier must have caught something of Geralt’s hesitation. He leaned down, bringing his face close to Geralt’s. “If you need to stop, just tell me,” he said gently. “I won’t give you more than you can handle.”

Geralt snorted. “As if you could.”

Jaskier cocked his head and smiled. “We’ll see.” With lighting speed he whipped the lash across Geralt’s chest. The sting surprised Geralt. This was nothing like the bite of steel or the ragged slash of the claw of a beast. This was…precise. It sent a jolt of fire straight to Geralt’s cock.

Jaskier smiled. “That was for pushing your cock into my mouth.” He whipped the lash again, making Geralt’s back arch. “That was for making me cry tonight.” Again. “That was for all the times you made fun of my singing.” Again. “That was for breaking my heart.”

Geralt’s breath caught. The pain across his chest was delicious, but the pain he felt at Jaskier’s last words was something else. Jaskier noticed his expression and climbed on top of him, laying fully against him. “This is for coming back,” he said, pressing his mouth against Geralt’s. The kiss was deep but gentle, Jaskier’s tongue expert and soft. Jaskier’s fingers softly traced Geralt’s jaw and tangled in his hair. Geralt longed to do the same, but the shackles held his hands far away from the bard.

Jaskier broke the kiss to trail kisses down Geralt’s chin, then his neck, down his chest and torso. He paused, crouched over Geralt’s hips, and looked back up at him, blue eyes sparkling. Geralt smiled, and Jaskier smiled back, then bent and wrapped his lips around Geralt’s cock, this time without teasing.

Geralt groaned and his hips bucked up of their own accord, pushing deep into Jaskier’s mouth. His mouth was so wet and soft, and memories of their years on the road flooded back in an instant. Geralt’s wrists jerked against the shackles, but the restraints held. He could do nothing but push again and again into Jaskier’s mouth, which worked his cock with practiced strokes.

“Jaskier,” Geralt rumbled, “wait.” Geralt had wished for this moment for so long, he didn’t want it to end yet, but Jaskier had him on the brink already.

Jaskier obliged, sliding his mouth off Geralt’s cock and sitting back on his hips. “As I said,” Jaskier said, “I won’t give you more than you can handle.” He winked.

Geralt grunted in reply, but a smile played on his lips.

Jaskier stood. “Perhaps if my mouth is a bit too much for you, we should see if yours is similarly too much for me.” He untied the laces of his trousers. “Although I doubt it.” He pushed his trousers off and Geralt saw, for the first time in years, Jaskier’s hard cock. Fuck he had missed this man.

Jaskier climbed onto the bed and straddled Geralt’s chest—no easy feat, and Geralt was impressed. He inched closer to Geralt’s mouth, his cock bobbing tantalizingly in front of Geralt’s face. He looked down at Geralt and placed a hand on his head. “Open,” he commanded. Geralt did as he was told, readily, happily, desperate for the taste of Jaskier. Jaskier slid his cock slowly into Geralt’s mouth, the warm, rich smell and taste of him filling Geralt’s senses. Geralt moaned, and Jaskier returned the sound, beginning to thrust. As his thrusts became faster he leaned his head back, and Geralt guessed his eyes were closed. He began to swear, one long, continuous breath of “shit-fucking-gods-balls-holy-fucking-damn,” and Geralt eased the pressure of his tongue. For all Jaskier’s bragging, Geralt knew he was close when he started swearing.

Jaskier knew it too, and pulled quickly out of Geralt’s mouth. He placed a hand on the headboard to steady himself, breathing heavily as he looked back at Geralt. “I forgot how good you are at that,” he said with a small smirk.

Geralt tried to reach for him again, but the shackles bit his wrists. “Jaskier,” he said, “can we get rid of these already?”

Jaskier gently sat back on Geralt’s chest. He leaned close. “Only if you promise to stay the night,” he said. Geralt would have laughed were it not for the look in Jaskier’s eyes. Fuck, he had caused this man so much pain.

“I promise.”

Jaskier rose and retrieved the key from the trunk, then unlatched each shackle, his eyes on Geralt’s face, as if he didn’t quite believe Geralt’s promise. The moment Geralt’s hands were both free he pulled Jaskier down to him, running his hands over every inch of his skin, rubbing his satin hair between his fingers, covering his mouth with his own. “Jaskier,” he whispered against his lips. “I have missed you so much.”

Tears were rolling down Jaskier’s cheeks again, but he did not stop kissing Geralt. In fact, his kisses became deeper, wetter, and, without warning, Jaskier sat on Geralt’s cock, sliding it into himself. Geralt gasped as Jaskier moaned, but Jaskier had already begun to rock against him. Geralt had not retreated from the brink, and the hard pressure of Jaskier’s ass on him was going to finish him. “Jaskier,” he breathed, “wait—”

“Come, Geralt,” Jaskier said, his eyes bright. “I’m done waiting.”

Geralt gave in, shooting thickly into the bard, dimly aware that Jaskier was coming too, that sticky cum had coated his belly. Geralt moaned and pulled Jaskier to him, laying his cheek against the bard’s chest. For several long moments they sat like that, panting and sweating and holding each other as tightly as they could.

Finally Jaskier pushed himself up off Geralt, clambering off the bed to find a cloth to clean them both with. After they had both wiped off, Jaskier climbed back into the bed and lay against him, nestling close to Geralt, who wrapped both arms around him.

Geralt closed his eyes and inhaled Jaskier’s scent, pressing his lips to the bard’s hair. How had he lived without this for so long? “Come with me when I leave,” he murmured. “Come be my traveling companion again.”

“Geralt.” Jaskier’s fingers squeezed against his skin. “Don’t do this. Just be with me right now.”

“We can be together more than just right now,” Geralt responded. “Like we were before.”

“We were not always together, before.” Jaskier’s voice sounded haggard. Tired. “Don’t ask this of me. Please.” He took a ragged breath. “I don’t know if I can tell you no.”

Geralt’s hands tightened, as if he could pull Jaskier into himself, make him part of himself, so he could never leave. But Jaskier’s words sank in, nonetheless. “You won’t come with me.”

“No.” Jaskier’s breath fluttered against Geralt’s skin. “I’m not a young man anymore. I’m not suited to life on the road. And I have a good life here. A good living.” He sighed. “You could stay with me. Stay here in Novigrad. I have more than enough money to support you.”

Geralt could tell it was a hollow request, even as Jaskier said it. He didn’t respond. Jaskier hadn’t even asked him to stay. He had just stated what Geralt could do. What they both knew he would not.

Geralt sighed, and felt fresh tears against his chest. He stroked Jaskier’s back, gently. Even now, despite himself, he couldn’t seem to stop hurting him. He could, at least, enjoy being with him, relish the feel of Jaskier’s skin, the scent of his hair, the touch of his lips.

Jaskier raised his head, his blue eyes meeting Geralt’s golden ones. “I still love you,” Jaskier said. “I always have.”

“Oh, Jaskier.” Geralt’s voice was husky. “I love you too. I always will.”

Jaskier smiled. “It’s good to finally hear you say that.” He settled his head back against Geralt’s chest, his fingers delicately tracing patterns over his skin. “You’ll always have a place with me, whenever you come by. Here, or anywhere else I end up.”

Geralt smiled. “Tell me where you end up, and I won't stay away so long again.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you like my work, find me on tumblr: [thetardigrape](https://thetardigrape.tumblr.com/)


End file.
